


Bigots And Allies

by flawedamythyst



Series: Horse And Carriage [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 09:19:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sergeant Donovan,” said Sherlock in greeting, apparently completely unembarrassed to be found cuddling his sleeping husband in the middle of the Met's headquarters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bigots And Allies

Donovan turned the corner and stopped short at a sight she had never even imagined, let alone expected to see on a third floor corridor of New Scotland Yard.

The line of three chairs had been moved a metre to the left so that Sherlock could lean up against the wall, wedged in at an angle so that John could slump across him, head resting on his chest and legs curled up on the other chair. He was fast asleep and snoring faintly. Sherlock's arms were wrapped around him to keep him in place, and they both looked as if they had been there for a while.

“Sergeant Donovan,” said Sherlock in greeting, apparently completely unembarrassed to be found cuddling his sleeping husband in the middle of the Met's headquarters.

“I know you like to treat this place as if you live here,” said Donovan, “but you actually don't. You've got a flat to sleep in.”

“I'm aware of that,” said Sherlock, sounding terse, “and we'd both prefer to be there right now, but we've just solved one of Gregson's cases and need to give statements before we can go, and he's keeping us waiting.”

“I take it you managed to piss him off, then,” said Donovan. It wouldn't have taken much, not with Gregson, and especially not given Sherlock's usual attitude.

Sherlock scowled. “He was being insufferably stupid,” he said. “Of course I was going to point it out. And then he upset John.”

“He upset John?” repeated Donovan, glancing at John's sleeping face. He didn't look very relaxed and she couldn't imagine that lying half across Sherlock's bony chest and half across a couple of chairs was in any way comfortable. “That must have taken some doing.”

“Oh, it's easy enough if you know the right triggers,” said Sherlock. 

He'd know. John must spend rather a lot of time pissed off with him. Anyone who spent that much time with Sherlock would be constantly irritated, even someone as laid back as John seemed to be. It was more a surprise that he was ever not pissed off enough to do things like follow Sherlock to crime scenes, or fall asleep on him. 

“Gregson is rather intolerant,” continued Sherlock. “Once he discovered that we were married, some of his comments became a little pointed. John has very little patience with that sort of thing.”

That sounded a lot like Gregson. He was so old-fashioned that he was practically neolithic. The handful of times that his team had worked with Lestrade's, he'd asked Donovan to make tea for everyone far more often than he'd ever asked her thoughts on the case. After all, everyone knew that's all women were good for. 

She glanced at his office door, which was firmly shut, though she could see him frowning over some paperwork through the window. “I'm a bit surprised you're not making your feelings on being kept waiting very clear,” she said. Sherlock wasn't exactly the shy and retiring type.

“I did,” said Sherlock. “At length. It became clear, however, that the more I said, the more determined he was to keep us here as late as possible.” He looked down at John. “It was pointed out to me that if we ever wanted to get out of here, I should back down. That was an hour ago.”

“And he's still got you here,” finished Donovan. She rolled her eyes. “He's a bit of a child, Gregson. Once he's entrenched on something, he can be bloody pigheaded about it.”

A frustrated look passed over Sherlock's face, and his grip around John tightened and then released. John didn't stir at the movement at all, and Donovan had the odd realisation that he must be used to sleeping as he was. It was an odd thought to have about the two of them – it was one thing to know they were married, quite another to think of them doing normal couple things like falling asleep in each other's arms. Donovan wouldn't have said that Sherlock was the type for it at all, but here he was, holding his husband while he slept as if it was the most natural thing to be doing. Donovan wasn't sure how to match that information up with her mental image of him.

“Any advice you might have would be greatly appreciated,” said Sherlock in a forced voice, as if just asking was painful. It probably was for an arrogant bastard like him. “John only had two hours sleep last night, and he has the early shift at work tomorrow which he'll insist on going in for, even if we don't get back home for hours tonight.”

Donovan glanced at the time. It was already well past the time she'd been hoping to be home by, and she'd been intending to drop these files off and then get out of here. If she was desperate to get home after a full night's sleep last night, John must be even more so.

“I'll see what I can manage,” she said, thinking. Gregson was as stubborn as they came, but if you knew how to work around him, he was surprisingly easy to manipulate. You just had to know which buttons to press. She nodded at John. “He was in the army, wasn't he?”

“Yes,” said Sherlock. There was a glint in his eye that said he knew where Donovan was going with this. “He was a doctor in the RAMC. He was shot in Afghanistan while attempting to save the life of another soldier.” That was more than Donovan had known, but it didn't really surprise her. Maybe six years ago it would have, but she knew John Watson a lot better now.

“Right,” she said. She could definitely work with that, she thought as she marched up to Gregson's door and knocked.

“Come in,” he called, and she went in.

“Couple of files for you, sir,” she said, putting them down on his desk.

“Thank you,” he said, glancing down at them.

“I see you've been working with the freak,” she said, nodding outside at where Sherlock and John were. Now that the chairs had been moved to the left, they were in perfectly in Gregson's eye-line as he sat at his desk, and she wondered if that had been on purpose. A moment later she revised the thought. It was Sherlock Holmes, of course it was on purpose. He was deliberately winding Gregson up just by cuddling his husband. That was rather impressive.

“Ah, yes,” said Gregson, glancing outside with an expression of distaste. “The consulting detective and his tag-along.” Donovan hadn't been aware how much disgust could be poured into the phrase 'consulting detective'. She should have been impressed, but instead it just made her feel oddly defensive. “A pleasure I could have done without, really.”

“Yeah, he can be a bit much,” agreed Donovan. “John's a decent bloke, though. Can't imagine what he's doing hanging around with someone like that. I suppose the war did something to him.”

Gregson frowned. “The war?” he repeated.

“Oh yeah, didn't you know?” said Donovan. “He was an Army doctor before this. Did his bit for Queen and country, got shot saving someone's life, then came back here and ended up living with that madman. It's got to be some form of PTSD, right?” Was mentioning Queen and country a bit too much? She glanced at the portrait of the Queen which had pride of place on the wall behind Gregson's desk. No, she was probably okay.

“A soldier?” said Gregson, looking out at John as if he'd be able to give some sign of military service whilst asleep on Sherlock. Donovan could almost see the respect growing in Gregson's eyes and refrained from rolling her own at how easy that had been. These ultra-conservative types were all the same; mention the armed forces and they practically wet their pants with jingoistic pride. 

“And he was shot?” added Gregson.

“Yeah,” said Donovan. “When I first met him, he was just back. Had a cane and everything.” She hadn't seen it since that first night, but that didn't mean she couldn't lay it on a bit thick. “It's amazing how much better he is.” And now for the final push. “Can't imagine those chairs are doing him much good, though.” Too much? She had to be careful – if Gregson caught on to what she was trying, John and Sherlock would likely be there until dawn.

“Ah, yes,” said Gregson, still looking out at John and Sherlock. Sherlock was looking at the wall as if he had no idea they were under scrutiny, but Donovan would bet he knew exactly what was going on in here. “I suppose they have been out there a while. I lost track of time a bit – you know how paperwork gets.”

“Of course, sir,” said Donovan. “I can ask them to come in as I go, if you want?”

Gregson looked down at the papers on his desk again, then nodded. “Yes, that's probably for the best,” he said.

Donovan suppressed her grin as she left. It should not be that easy to manipulate a senior police officer, and it should definitely not be that much fun.

“His Eminence will see you now,” she said to Sherlock.

“Thank you,” he said, and for once it sounded genuine. She wasn't sure how to react to that, and a moment later his attention switched to John. “Wake up, John,” he said, gently shaking him. “It's time to be done with this farce.”

John's eyes blinked slowly open and caught on Sherlock's face. For the briefest moment, he had a look of complete contentment and pleasure that Donovan wouldn't have been able to fathom anyone aiming at Sherlock. She was suddenly reminded of waking up the morning after Chris had proposed to find him inspecting the ring on her finger, and the look she'd felt cross her own face then. How could anyone, even someone like John Watson, be able to feel that way about Sherlock Holmes? _It takes all sorts,_ she remembered her mother saying. That only seemed to get more true as she got older.

The look only lasted a second on John's face before he took in the rest of their surroundings and let out a groan. “How are we still here?” he asked in a sleep-roughened voice. “I was hoping it was just a bad dream.”

“It's nearly over,” said Sherlock. “The imbecile has finally deigned to take our statements.”

“Excellent,” said John, sitting up with a grimace as he tried to get his stiff limbs working. He caught sight of Donovan as he did so. “Oh, hello, Sally.”

“Hello,” she said. “And goodbye. Good luck with Gregson,” she said to Sherlock. “I'd advise not calling him 'the imbecile' to his face, or you really will be here all night.”

“Noted,” said Sherlock. “Good night, Sergeant Donovan.”

“Good night, Mr. Watson,” she returned, but for the first time it didn't feel like an insult to call him that. From the look on Sherlock's face, he didn't take it as such either, and she wondered if he ever had.

She walked back to her desk to get her stuff. It was past time she got home to her fiancé. She rather fancied curling up with him on the sofa, and dozing off in his arms.


End file.
